


'cause it's somewhere warm to sleep

by magpiesflyinghome



Series: asthmatic [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Gen, Ignores Exile Arc, Necromancy, Part Two of I'll Make A Home In Your Gut, Rituals, This is my application - let me write the dsmp please, Wilbur Soot gets Resurrected, grave robbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpiesflyinghome/pseuds/magpiesflyinghome
Summary: Tommy was desperate for his brother back, after a month of his death, after weeks of preparation, it is the night. He is bringing his brother back.Part two ofi'll make a home in your gut
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: asthmatic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034148
Kudos: 43





	'cause it's somewhere warm to sleep

A knock sounds on the entrance of his house, pulling Tommy out of his semi-conscious dissociation, his tired eyes flicking to the front opening. He sees the head of his best friend peaking in, a worried expression sitting on his boyish features, and that’s when he knows that this is the beginning: _the start of the end of the world_.

He lifts his head off of his wrist, cracking the joint and leaning back in his wooden chair. Tommy meets Tubbo’s eyes, nodding his head and watching as the brown-haired boy scampers from his house, his footsteps steadily disappearing into the distance. It’s **_the day_** , they had decided, or more-so the book had decided, the instructions had been very clear on what type of night they needed to do this on. Tommy pushes back the chair, standing up and swiping up the book in question. He looks down at it for a quick moment, once again familiarizing himself with the extremely foreign sigils and markings, the ones that potentially speak in his hope. Tommy walks towards his chests, picking up the supplies he will need, slinging them together in an ender chest and hoping that Tubbo placed the other on in an attempt to be organized for once. What they are doing is still considered illegal, even if Tubbo is the president, even if Tommy is the vice-president. There is a reason that he had to travel to the Farlands to find a merchant that would even have a fraction of a chance of keeping this specific enchanted book in stock.

Tommy doesn’t like to think of how it was his last chance, his one shot, to bring his brother back. They do alchemy on the daily, but bringing back a dead person was somehow too much for their whole entire world, or maybe it’s supposed to be that demoralizing. It is whatever created this world’s way of deterring those from playing god themselves, to resurrect like they plan to do shortly. After they attempt this, there is no way back to just being human, to play along like a foolish mortal, if they do this and they succeed, there is no telling what else is possible. Most of it could be bad for them, hell, actually all of it is bad for them. _What if they bring back Wilbur just for him to blow up L’Manberg again?_

_What if they bring him back he tries to kill them? What if he would succeed? Would they just set loose a homicidal maniac onto the innocent civilians of L’Manberg? Would Wilbur even fully be human anymore? Would he remember them? Would he remember what he did? Would he even know them anymore? What will happen to his spirit after he becomes human again? What if it kills them? What if they die and they fail to bring Wilbur back? What if_ —Tubbo knocks on the wall, pulling Tommy back to the reality of everything. They are going to bring back his brother, or die trying.

He follows Tubbo to the outskirts of L’manberg, to the familiar hill that he returns to every bad afternoon, every night when he feels the insomnia gripping him ever so tighter, every time he hears the even slightest sighting of Techno; the grave of his eldest brother, the one who raised him in their father’s absence. There is already a shovel there waiting for them, hidden in the nearby foliage. If the necromancy was the first illegal thing they were partaking in this evening, the grave robbing would be the second. Tommy takes the shovel from Tubbo’s hands and penetrates the newly grown grass. After the first mound of dirt is made to the side, Tommy can feel his arms starting to burn, the muscles screaming out from overuse. He powers through it, though, gritting his teeth and hoping that they don’t fuck up his braces. A solid thunk sounds out when his shovel hits the wooden casket, telling them that they reached their “treasure”, if this could be considered a fucked-up scavenger hunt. Tubbo helps him clear away the rest of the dirt with his hands, attempting to find the latch on the side.

There is a small click as they are able to get it unlocked, which allows them to swing it open, and there _he_ is. It’s been only at least a months’ time since Tommy last saw Wilbur, and nothing would be able to prepare him for his corpse, the telltale signs of decay already playing on his features. Tommy almost feels like throwing up, his tears almost leaking out of his eyes, his hands shaking, because now he is also hit with just how much this is actually _happening_ ; there is a big difference between planning to do something and actually doing it. Tubbo has to tap his shoulder, placing his already scrambled mind and violently ripping it from staring down at the corpse of his brother. They try to be as gentle as they can while lifting him, carefully placing him down on the ground and ushering all of the dirt back onto the empty grave, hoping that by the time the sun rises in the morning that the grass covers up their tracks. They shouldn’t be worried, though, Tommy is the only one who visits it enough to notice the difference.

Wilbur is heavy even as a limp mannequin-esque figure, making their trip to the cave difficult, but the three of them are thankfully not caught by anyone on guard near the old barrier-lines. They rest Wilbur against the bench holding everything else they need for the evening, the bowl of blood-red clay, the bowl of almost drenched fish eyes surrounded by scales, and the multiple buckets holding other such things. Tubbo draws the triangle, making sure the edges are to the specification that Tommy reads out to him from the book. They carry Wilbur over to the triangle, placing his waist at the correct position on the bottom leg, his head resting underneath the top angle. Both of them work putting the rest of the bowls in their correct places: the live fish with gun powder on the top, the eyes and scales covered in Tommy’s own blood, and the eye of Ender that keeps looking at them through it’s parched eye-socket.

Tubbo kneels next to Wilbur, placing the leather patch across the fatal wound that killed him, where a sword had penetrated his flesh, drawing blood and ripping his organs. The whole entire cavern stinks of fish, and of the coppery metallic smell of blood, and it’s starting to make them both uncomfortable. He thinks it feels suffocating, and the potent smell of dirt and decay is finally starting to mix in, creating a disturbing combination that would make anyone weak in the knees. They brave through it the best they can, trying to hold in their need to gag as they finally pick up the last item they need from a final bucket on the table: _a live squid_.

His friend holds it out to him, his face fraught with nerves, and Tommy places his hand on it, squeezing and trying not to cringe at the slimy feeling of the it’s skin. The book is open in his free hand, ready for them to speak the words, and hopefully bring back one of the only remaining family members he has left. He exchanges a glance with Tubbo, and that’s when they start, “We beseech, we repent,” they have to grip the squid tighter as it struggles in their grasp. “We wish for forgiveness from the Almother, for she bathes in blood and has her tight grip around the souls of the damned,” they continue, voices becoming more intertwined by the second, “We beg and plea for her assistance, we respect the force she wields, and we wish for her _pity_ , to bring us our abandoned soul.” The triangle starts to light up, from the tip and slowly making the blood red sigil glow brightly, “We repent, we repent, we repent, we beg, we beg, we _beg_.”

They maneuver the squid towards the bucket, the fish already splashing water out of the vessel, it wetting the gun powder on the rim. As they drop it in there is a gigantic splash, as if the receptacle was suddenly bottomless. Tommy and Tubbo watch as the squid disappears under the surface of the water, and then stepping back from the bucket, and making their way back to Wilbur’s feet. “Our truths and falsities, they do not exist in _the city_ ,” Tommy looks at Tubbo, wiping his slick hand on his pant-leg and nervously looking back down at the final words. “Our judgement is hers, and hers alone, it is final, on our binding word, on the blood of the betrayed, a traitor to all that is mortal,” he stops, handing the book to Tubbo. He removes the piece of cloth from his back pocket, it was a part of jabot collar from their old uniform, before everything fell apart. Wilbur had burned the waistcoat and breeches in a bonfire, one of the moments before he snapped, before he created _that room_ and hit the button. Tommy had saved this one piece, as Wilbur had ripped the uniform from his hands, throwing it into the burning pyre. It was one of the final fragments that Tommy had of who Wilbur used to be, the Wilbur that people would die for, the one people fought wars for, the one who cared about Tommy as much as Tommy cared about him.

He removes a dagger from his belt, staring down at it before slicing open the tip of his index finger, and he watches for a moment as the red blood flows from his finger in a small stream. Tommy draws the needed symbol on the collar piece, and he steps forward, his foot crossing the glowing line to place the soiled ruffle on Wilbur’s right hand. When Tommy steps out of the triangle, that’s when the true part of the ritual starts, and the red glow turns green. It slowly builds into a presence, a wave of almost fully translucent sickly green covering Wilbur’s body. Everything on the triangle starts to float, creating a shaped wall of small specks of clay, the eyeballs blinking around even when any sort of eyelid is not present. The objects move slowly, circling each other the way to magnets do when spun, and when they collide over Tommy’s brother, a bright light shatters the dissonance. It sends the bowls and buckets clattering to the floor, now empty of any evidence of their crime, and that’s when Wilbur’s still limp body is lowering.

Wilbur is gently eased onto the floor, the holes in his flesh nonexistent, the larvae that had crawled all over him were abolished, and his clothes were still in tatters from the explosion. His breathing was steady and his eyes were still closed, and Tommy is frozen in anticipation and fear, hoping that any minute Wilbur will open his dark eyes and smile at him like he used to. He’ll greet Tommy and roughhouse him like when they were kids, when they snuck out of the house during their brother’s training with their father. Tommy’s hope is held out on that, on the Wilbur he knew, the one he grew up with, returning to him. It may be stupid, it may be futile, but it’s all Tommy wants. He wants his brother back, he wants to return to when they were younger, when they had never even had the idea of Pogtopia, or L’Manberg in their ambitious little minds. When nobody cared about them besides each other, when- when Tommy had felt so loved and cherished despite the fact it was only him and Wilbur.

It’s what he desperately wants, it’s what Tommy so wishes for, for those days to return to him. He wants to stop feeling so broken, so scared, so utterly exhausted every new day. Tommy just wants to return to life when he and Wilbur were just brothers, running around the woods of their commune and getting into trouble, and being just what they were: _kids_. That time had died by the moment Wilbur had mentioned meeting Sally in town, and when Fundy was born, when Wilbur left him alone with Tubbo. He hadn’t been angry, he hadn’t felt betrayed because he knew his brother, he knew he needed time to adjust, and Tommy wasn’t going to be a helpful thing in that process. It was when Tommy moved away that he had seen Wilbur again, it felt like finally destiny, that fate, had finally pushed them back together.

Tommy never told anyone about their late night meeting the first night of Wilbur being in town, sitting on the hill above the buildings, watching the torches burn brightly while monsters walk by. They hadn’t said a word to each other, just trying to remember what it was like to be in the presence of their brother again, the happy blur that was their childhood mowing them down with euphoria. He had been the one to break the silence, a quiet, “It’s good to see you, Wil.” That moment had shattered any awkwardness that pervaded their reunion, and Wilbur had hugged him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. They had laughed and joked and were as inseparable as they were years ago, and it felt like a hole had been filled in his life again. His brother, his caretaker, his best friend. Everything was good until they were kicked out, until they made their own land in L’Manberg. A new home, one they could share. It had been so long since they were able to live in that peaceful bubble, where they could pretend like they were just a few meters away from their childhood home, that their dad and brother were out training.

Any hope of peace, of safety, was destroyed when Eret had turned on them. Dream destroyed their home, he had raked it with a scythe of death, of fire, like pestilence. His anger had licked at their crops like magma, dismantling any system, any resources, because he didn’t think they deserved their home. Tommy had been so fucking angry, he had tried to fight them, but it never worked. He fell, he died, and he watched his brother spiral. After so many years of friendship, after everything Wilbur and Tommy had been through together, Tommy had never seen Wilbur like he had after they were banished from their own second home. They created a new place, Pogtopia, in hopes of being able to get back what they built. To think that they had won, that everything they wanted was in their grasp was foolish of them. Just because their brother helped him, didn’t mean he wanted to stay around to actually be their brother, and Tommy shouldn’t have fucking expected that of him.

Techno never was their brother, no matter how much Phil tried to act like they all were, it was quiet obvious which one he liked the most, and it was neither Tommy or Wilbur. He doesn’t hate Phil, it would be hard to, after his father saved him from being a urchin on the streets eating out of trashcans and begging passerbys for some help, but he can hate how he was treated. He can hate that no matter how hard Tommy has tried to be good for him, to prove that he is worth something in this world, it is never enough. That’s not just strictly with Phil, though, it’s with every person that Tommy has ever met in his life, and _especially his eldest brother_. He’s always going to be too loud, too obnoxious, for everyone around him. They all consider him too brash, too bold, too overconfident. Wilbur was the only person to ever believe in him, and that was even short-lived.

Maybe Tubbo believed in him too, but he knows that underneath that there is probably somethings that Tubbo has withheld from saying to him.

He doesn’t know why Tubbo even agreed to help him bring back Wilbur, Tubbo didn’t even like Wilbur, _not anymore_.

Tommy is pulled from his thoughts when he hears a small groan come from Wilbur, another sound getting stuck in his throat as he rolls over. His eyes snap open, staring at the stone underneath him like he’s never seen anything like it before, and Tommy holds out hope that Wilbur remembers the good. Wet and sickly coughs start to erupt from Wilbur as he somehow starts to throw up the fish eyes. They watch in wonder, as they fall from his mouth and into a jumbled bloody mess on the stone floor. When the last of it comes out in phlegmy scoffs, Wilbur looks up.

Any hope that Tommy had fled through his feet and into the ground beneath him, his brother’s eyes weren’t dark brown, they were still light gray. The uneasy smile that had slipped onto Tommy’s face only seconds earlier seemed to fall at the words that left Wilbur’s hoarse throat, “Wh-who are you?” It’s like his heart shattered in two, his ribs breaking into pieces and piercing his insides, his brother doesn’t remember him. Even when his brother was a ghost he remembered Tommy, he remembered that they meant the world to each other, he had remembered Tommy’s birthdays when they were on the run, he had remembered that Tommy cared about him. Now, though, he remembers nothing. His knees almost go weak at the implication, at the idea that now he has to start from the ground up with his brother, try to explain everything to him, try to help his memories return if he can.

Tubbo catches him as he falls to his knees, “Y-You don’t remember us, Wil?” His older brother stares at him, “I’m sorry.” He hasn’t heard Wilbur speak like that in so long, with a soft voice like he was terrified to break Tommy. It was when they first left home that he heard that tone, and it only came out when everything looked to be going wrong, when it seems their father finally returned home and tried to set people out to look for them. He had forgotten what it had sounded like, Wilbur’s sadness, his over-encompassing emotions. Tommy has forgotten how much it hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry that this is kind of gross and ignoring how to bring back people in Minecraft lore, but I really liked creating my own ritual. If you are into podcasts the type of ritual was really inspired by Archive 81's third season, so check that out but huge gore warning (also animal death warning!) it can be kinda gross.


End file.
